


The Star In His Chest (How it Shines)

by No_Angel_Here_1402



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Season/Series 05, Angst, Dean Says Yes, Falling Castiel, M/M, Michael Possessing Dean Winchester
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-04
Updated: 2015-04-04
Packaged: 2018-03-21 05:59:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3680583
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/No_Angel_Here_1402/pseuds/No_Angel_Here_1402
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Sam,” Castiel says carefully from behind him, “that’s not your brother.”</p><p>The first thing Sam wants to do is argue—Dean’s standing right there; how is it not him? But upon a closer look, Sam sees the differences. The way Dean stands, usually so fluid and carefree, swaggered and confident, is rigid with command. The air around him is soaked in cool-tasting indifference that crackles with electricity. His green eyes crack and snap like ice, like lightning striking down the earth and leaving fiery trails in its wake. </p><p>“Hello, Samuel,” Dean says, his lips barely moving. Everything about him screams control. His voice is even, a little rough, but calm and Sam’s stomach gives a terrified lurch as Castiel murmurs a name that suddenly makes horrifying, sickening sense:</p><p>“Michael.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Something Simple

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers up to Season 5 for almost the whole season. Things don’t happen the way they do in the show, but they do happen, so be warned. Warnings of angst, gore, torture via angelic mind rape, etc. Warnings will be added as needed.

It was supposed to be something simple. Easy enough for Dean to go in alone, challenging enough that it would take a few days. They searched the papers and scoured the internet and finally got a call from Rufus that alerted them of a group of demons in the next state over. Didn’t know how many, probably five or six, slowly taking over a diner. Dean had been itching for a hunt for weeks, the idea of staying holed up for so long making him anxious.

They’d been reading nonstop for around three weeks now. No one had a hit on Death or War’s location and all the demons weren’t dealing since Lucifer had put out an order that no one touched the Winchesters. With Crowley off slinking in some dark alley and ignoring every summoning they tried, Sam, Dean, Bobby, and even Castiel, when he decided to grace them with his presence from time to time, were at an extreme disadvantage.

Dean called when he’d gotten there, stayed on the phone as he entered. He breathed ‘Christo’ before the line went dead. That was two weeks ago. Sam paces the living room nervously. “Where the hell is he? I don’t understand. It was supposed to be a few days, not two weeks!”

The sound of feathers rustled produced a gust of air, much like the one Cas had caused with the now missing Winchester broken, bloodied, and unconscious against his side. Sam and Bobby both turn to see the blonde-haired male standing there as if everything was fine.

“Dean?!”

“Sam,” Castiel says carefully from behind him, “that’s not your brother.”

The first thing Sam wants to do is argue—Dean’s standing right there; how is it not him? But upon a closer look, Sam sees the differences. The way Dean stands, usually so fluid and carefree, swaggered and confident, is stiff with command. The air around him is soaked in cool-tasting indifference that crackles with electricity. His green eyes crack and snap like ice, like lightning striking down the earth and leaving fiery trails in its wake.

“Hello, Samuel,” Dean says, his lips barely moving. Everything about him screams control. His voice is even, a little rough, but calm and Sam’s stomach gives a terrified lurch as Castiel murmurs a name that suddenly makes horrifying, sickening sense:

 

“ _Michael_.”

 

“Castiel,” he answers.

 

“Get the hell out of my brother!” Sam snarls. “You had your vessel! What happened to Adam?”

“Adam is no longer of use to me,” Michael answers. “And _you_ cannot order me around.” He cuts his gaze to Sam. It’s sharp, alert, intense, cold. Like glass or ice.

“Dean did not say yes. He changed his mind; his will would never break under you. You didn’t abide by his rules,” Castiel says stiffly. His eyes, usually a stormy blue of ocean waves, glows with Grace. “Give him _back_.”

“Castiel, I will warn you once and once only. Curb your tongue before I curb it for you. Dean gave me permission, he said yes, and it will not be long before his brother,” Michael glances back at Sam, “does the same. I suggest you return to Heaven, Castiel. I see your Grace slowly fading; it won’t last much longer. Rally your troops. It’s time to prepare for war.”

“The _hell_ it is! War my ass!” Bobby growls. “What did you do to him?”

“You’ll find that even the strongest steel will bend to my will if I give it the correct,” the archangel’s lip quirks, “ _persuasion_.”

“You brain-washed him!” Castiel accuses. His fists clench at his sides. “How dare you! Dean Winchester was _my_ charge--.”

“One that you _failed to protect_ , Seraph,” Michael interjects. The lights flicker at his sharp annoyance, his eyes flashing. Castiel grimaces as if Michael had cold-clocked him. “Curb. Your. Tongue. Castiel.”

“I do not follow your orders, Michael.”

Dean’s eyebrow raises. “Is that what you believe? I will return at the end of the week, Castiel. I expect you to rethink where your loyalties lie, and rethink them hard. I’d hate to have to show you.”

“Return tomorrow, the end of the week or by the end of the millennia, my loyalties will _never_ change, Michael,” Castiel snarls. His left fist unclenches and a silver angel blade slides into his hand. “I suggest you leave now. I’d hate to spill yet another angel’s blood but, to be honest, I don’t think I’d mind spilling yours.” His lip curls.

Sam watches with a mix of fear and apprehension. Dean is gone, he understands that, and he understands what Castiel is doing. He’s throwing himself under a bus, the same one that had Jo’s and Ellen’s and Pamela’s and John’s and Mary’s and Jess’ blood dried all over the front it. The loss of Dean is something Sam feels keenly already but it said something when Castiel was throwing himself—offering himself—in front of Michael ready and willing to die for nothing. He steps forward and lays a hand on the angel’s shoulder. “Cas. Cas stop. I know what you’re doing; don’t do it. Dean is dead. That’s not him. Come on, man.”

Castiel whirls on him, blue eyes blazing like fire. “Dean is not dead!”

Michael chuckles. “And to think...you two never knew.”

Sam throws him a look that lands somewhere between pleading and menacing as Castiel turns to the archangel wearing Dean’s skin and growls, “Knew what?”

“It’s so obvious,” the archangel murmurs to himself. And in the same way he appeared, Michael leaves. Cas swivels back to Sam. “What do I not know?”

Sam sighs, running a hand through his hair. “Cas...I honestly thought you knew. Or...something. I thought maybe you two would figure it out, or fix it, or that it would come back into place eventually...Cas, Dean was in love with you. I don’t think he knew you felt the same way. I don’t even know if he realized it himself, the way he felt. But anytime you were gone without him knowing where you were, anytime he prayed and you never came...Dean worried about you. He loved you. I...I’m sorry, Castiel.”

Castiel staggers backward, bowing slightly as the full implication hits him hard in the gut. “All this time...” He murmurs, looking at the ground, “All this time, I was...I never knew. I never told him, I never gave him more than he asked, I never...I always assumed...” His breath comes in ragged gasps. His eyes glow brightly. “I never knew. He...he never told me.”

“And why should he? Dean-o was so emotionally constipated that it’s a miracle you even got a hug from him without the guy spontaneously imploding.”

There’s a flash, and then Castiel is holding the angel blade against a blonde-haired, golden eyed archangel that’s now pinned between Cas and the wall.

Sam’s eyes widen. _“Gabriel?”_


	2. Around the Fire We Dance

Sam’s eyes widen. _“Gabriel?”_

The shorter angel smiles, gives a small, 3-fingered wave. “Hiya, Samsquatch. So, ol’ Dean-o said yes, huh?”

Castiel’s grip tightens in his shirt. “I thought,” he hisses, “you were dead.”

Gabriel raises his chin, swallowing against the silver blade before pressing two fingers against the tip and nudging it away. “Yes, well,” he coughs. “With the greeting I got, I’m sure you can understand why I wasn't exactly keen on fixing that.”

“What did you expect, a welcoming committee?” Bobby gripes. “You’re lucky I didn’t blast your ass full of rock salt and shotgun shells, ya idjit.”

Castiel steps away, retracting the angel blade back into his sleeve. “I have to go,” he announces, and disappears. Gabriel stares at the spot his brother had occupied with golden eyes riddled with sadness before smiling a little too brightly and clapping his hands together once.

“So. Who wants pancakes?”

 

Two Weeks Earlier:

 

Dean enters the bar, phone held between ear and shoulder, and tenses as every person in the joint looks up. Inhaling quietly, he says, “ _Christo_ ,” and all the eyes turn black. He drops the phone, effectively ending the call. Of fucking course it all would be demons. Of course he’s outnumbered and outdone and of fucking course they have him pinned to one of the tables in minutes and all twenty of them pace around him like dogs circling their prey.

Doesn’t it just figure? He’d begged for this job, pleaded with Sam and Bobby, even Cas. His skin itched with staying locked up in the Panic Room with them for so long. He’d needed a hunt. So he’d gotten one, but now...well, shit.

He struggles against the demonic powers that pin him to the table, but there is no give. Rope, chain, duct tape, handcuffs—Dean prides himself in being able to get out of it all, but he can’t even loosen the demon’s powers on him.

One demon, a female with brunette hair and black eyes and sharp angular features, runs a hand through his hair and grins ferally. “Such a pretty boy,” she praises. “He will be pleased.”

Another one, a teenage male with black hair and green eyes lifts a lip. “Too bad he wanted him unharmed,” he says quietly. “I think he’d be much better with a few scars.”

“Crowley?” Dean growls. It has that demon scums scent all over the scene.

“Oh no, not him,” the demons laugh. “Crowley...isn’t on the same team as we are, Winchester.”

“Enough!” A new voice commands, and all the demons back away from him. It’s late at night and the lighting’s dim at best so it isn’t until the stranger gets up close that Dean Winchester can really see his captor. Blonde hair, tainted somehow to a red. Blood, maybe. His skin blistering, stained with dried blood in large, quarter-sized spots much like the Devil. Blue eyes hard and unforgiving in somehow the worst way.

“Adam?”

His half-brother lifts a lip in a sarcastic grin. “Sorry,” he says, sounding about as apologetic as a punch to the face, “Adam isn’t home right now.”

And then Dean remembers, and his breath hisses as he inhales sharply: Michael.

“What happened?”

“Adam was as close to a good fit as I could manage, but being half-Winchester and half another unimportant bloodline made it difficult. Say yes, Dean. You were so close before. Let me end this. All of it.”

“No,” Dean growls.

“I’m not like most angels, Dean. I won’t leave you a drooling mess on the floor like most. I can promise that. Say yes.”

“No!” Dean snarled from clenched teeth. “I’d rather go to Hell again, you stupid son of a bitch.”

Cold blue eyes stared hard at him. “That can be arranged, Winchester. I’ll ask you one more time. Say yes. Before I force you.”

Dean’s stomach flipped with nausea. He could taste the bitter flavor of bile at the back of his throat. His jaw sets. “No.”

Adam’s head rises, face developing into a hard set of determination. He’s angry; the hunter can feel electricity crackling in the air and his hair standing on end. He’s seen Raphael with lightning bolts arching out of his back like wings, he’d seen the silhouette of Cas’ wings in the barn, he’d felt the brush of displaced air every time an angel appeared but this feeling is even worse than all that combined. Michael is even more powerful, even stronger, even more brutal, and Dean Winchester is at his mercy.

“I’d never known an archangel to work with demon scum before,” He says, trying to buy more time.

“They won’t be demons for much longer,” Michael answers. The glint in his borrowed blue eyes in unmistakably archangel. “Once this is done, once my powers restored and I wear my proper vessel, I will save them. I will save them all.”

“So you save the demons and kill the humans? You logic is a little backwards buddy.”

Michael gives him a hum in acknowledgement as he rolls up the sleeves of the black sweater Adam wears and sits in a seat positioned right next to Dean’s head. “Perhaps,” he admits. “Now. Let’s get down to business, shall we?”

He places his hands on both sides of Dean’s head, sending a shot of agony down his spine. Dean doesn’t even bother trying to hold back the scream.

_“Sam!”_

 

 Present Time:

 

Sam paces. “What do we do? What _can_ we do? Dean’s gone, Bobby. He’s not...” Fuck, he thinks, legs going weak. His chest feels hollow. “Jesus Christ, Bobby, Dean is _gone_.”

“Not exactly,” Castiel murmurs, back now. He’s on the middle of the living room floor, kneeling on one knee. Surrounded by bodies. There’s Ellen, and Jo, and John, and Pamela Barnes, and Ash. Sam feels sick.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing, boy?” Bobby demands. “Bringing dead people into my house! Have you lost your mind?”

Sam stares. He stares at John, his dad, how his chest is rising and falling in even spurts, how when he looks at the others, their chests do the same.

“Bobby,” he breathes. “Bobby, I don’t think their dead.”

“They’re not,” Castiel says, and then coughs. Hard. It’s an attack of hard, hacking, wet coughs that spray blood on his lips and into his hand. Gabriel stands.

“Castiel,” he says, voice gentle, horrified, anguished, “Brother, what have you _done?”_

Castiel stares at the blood now sitting in his palm before looking up at the archangel. “Gabriel,” he wheezes. And then he’s out cold, limp body falling to the floor.

“Cas!” Sam shouts, and picks him up, carrying him upstairs to the guest room. He puts the angel on the bed and takes off his shoes, his trench coat. Gabriel leans in the doorway.

“I’m guessing you have questions?” The archangel asks.

“Uh, yeah?” Sam laughs hollowly. “But I don’t even know where to start...Gabriel, Dean said _yes_. How could he—Michael _brainwashed_ him. He had to of, because Dean may have had a moment of weakness, but he snapped out of it and then changed his mind and that, that doesn’t go away so quickly, not with him. So what happens now? Dean said yes, Lucifer’s working on me, half of our previously dead family is now up and kicking—I mean, Jesus _Christ_ , man.”

“What do you mean, working on you?” Gabriel growls. “How?”

His chest feels hollow. “Dreams,” he manages. “For a long while. Lucifer...He’s been visiting. Trying to get me to...and I say no, but if Dean wasn’t strong enough, what makes me so different? Dean was always a better hunter, a better brother, a better— _everything_. I can’t...Jesus. Dean’s _gone_.”

“You’re right, he is,” Gabriel acknowledges. “I can help with the dreams, make a, uh...hmm...a type of shield on your mind, I guess. It would ward your mind from other angels.”

“Even Cas and you?”

“Since I would be the one to create the seal, no, I would be allowed. But I won’t take advantage of that, if that’s what you’re worried about,” Gabriel lifts a lip in half a smile, but his eyes are a dark honey with grief. “As for Cas... you won’t have to worry about that.”

Sam feels like the world is spinning under his feet, like when he was a kid and he’d spin and stare at the floor and it felt like it was moving even when he’d stopped. “What do you mean I won’t have to worry about that?”

“My Grace has been slowly disintegrating,” Castiel rasps from the bed, sitting up weakly. “The people in the living room, I didn’t bring them back—Michael did. I simply provided transport from there to here. But carrying so many people at once, it proved a strain my Grace couldn’t handle. It set forth what was already happening, but sped it up. I’m...Well...”

“You’re Falling?” Sam asks. Castiel nods.

“Jesus,” the hunter breathes. His family is falling apart in front of him and there’s nothing he can do to stop it.

Gabriel walks forward and sits next to Cas. Only as a brother can, he runs a hand through the black haired mane. “I told you, Cas,” he murmurs. “Humans, they’re dangerous.”

“Mm. But worth it, in the end.”

Sam looks at Gabriel helplessly, mouth opening to say something—hell, anything—but Bobby’s shout of, “Boys!” makes the Winchester lope downstairs with angel blade in hand and the golden-eyed archangel following behind.Sam skids to a stop when he gets to the entryway of the living room. Brown eyes, short brown hair, Marine stance with shoulders set back.

“Dad?”

 John smiles. “Good to see you, Sammy. Where’s Dean?”


	3. Map It Out On A Whiteboard and Call It Good

Two Weeks Ago:

The agony shooting down his spine is nothing compared to the mental images that Dean is forced to see.  His hands: wrapped around an angel blade, shoving it into Castiel’s chest, wrapped around Sam’s throat, pulling the trigger of a gun aimed at Bobby. Eyes that saw every death imaginable, at his own hands. Seconds, minutes, hours, days, years—time was immeasurable as he killed

And then, it stops. The world around him comes back into focus as he gasps for air, tears streaking his face like mascara lines on teenage girls.

“Say yes and it will stop, Dean,” Michael soothes. He runs a gentle hand through Dean’s short, honey-colored hair that’s now soaked with sweat. “All you have to do is say one word.”

Dean cringes away from the cool hand that feels like polished marble. He sobs. Forty years in hell was nothing compared to this—every slice, dice, flay, burn, every wound he received was nothing, not a prick of a needle compared to this mind rape.

“If I say yes,” he whispers, “will you do something for me?”

“If it’s in my power, it will be done.”

“Bring back my family. Dad, Ellen, Jo, Ash—hell, even Gabriel if you can,” Dean says. “Cas, Sam, Bobby—I’m all they’ve got. They need back-up. Please.”

Adam’s blistered face is half-hidden in shadows as he nods. Blue eyes glow with what can only be assumed to be Grace. “Of course, Dean. One word is all it takes. All it takes, Dean, is one word.”

“Promise me.”

“You have my word, as Michael the first archangel and as the angel that will soon share minds with you, Dean Winchester.”

Dean inhales a ragged breath. Michael wipes away his tears. “Then...yes.”

Michael’s chin dips down and his eyes close as he breathes in. “Finally,” he murmurs. The shrill whine and too-bright glow are nothing when held in comparison to the relief Dean can feel radiating throughout his entire body. Finally, the visions would end.

They left to see the others the next day, and Dean loses track of time afterword.

 

 

 

Present Time:

 

Everyone sits around the table, joined in a meeting in the Panic Room. The order goes: Castiel, Sam, Gabriel, Ellen, Jo, Ash, John, and Bobby next to Pamela. All of them sit around a wide, chestnut, circular table to come up with battle plans.

“So, what, we just sit back and wait?” Ellen demands. “Since when did that become an option for you Winchesters, huh?”

“Since Dean was stupid enough to allow an archangel to wear him to prom,” John snarls. “We don’t have a choice, alright? This showdown’s gonna happen whether we’re there for it or not, and to be perfectly honest, I’d really rather not die a second time trying to stop it.”

“Dean didn’t know what he was walking into!” Castiel snaps, blue eyes blazing. “I don’t like the idea any more than you do, but Sam has a point. We either go in and get killed with the other 3 billion people on this half of our planet, or we hole up and take stock of what we can while we can to hopefully, _hopefully_ make it through what will be Hell on Earth!”

“Well, let’s say we do hide out, Cas,” Jo suggests, spreading her arms in a wide gesture, “what do we do then? Where would we go? I don’t know about you guys, but I’m pretty sure this place isn’t going to hold forever—no offense, Bobby.”

“None taken,” Singer shrugs. “Sam, we both know Dean had a glimpse of the future a while back when one of his,” he nods the Cas, “pals kidnapped him. He didn’t give me many details, but you were closer to him than I was. What’s the future lookin’ like?”

“That future no longer exists,” Castiel shakes his head. “It’s—That timeline collapsed when Dean said yes instead of Sam. But we have to assume the worse—no electricity. Clean water will be hard to come by. Gasoline won’t last long. Demons, Croatoan-infected people everywhere; the end of the world is real and it’s coming faster than we know.”

“Oh, great, Apocalyptic movies coming to life,” Ash sulks.

“That’s an appropriate expectation, yes,” Castiel nods. He coughs again, causing most of the people around the table to flinch. Gabriel’s mood darkens visibly and he stands, resting his hands on the top of the desk.

“Is this what we’re coming down to?” He growls, looking around the table. “Dean’s gone so we just say ‘hell with it’ and give up? What about the Horsemen rings? When did that fall off the table? And when did sitting back and taking every blow without giving any back take its place?”

Pamela raises an eyebrow. “I like him.”

Gabriel gives a forced smile and a wink. “Thanks,” he laughs. His eyes turn hard again, and he shakes his head. “Jesus, guys. This is the same group that stood up to an archangel and called him a coward? Somehow, I don’t see it. I came because I knew you guys—I _thought_ you guys—were going to want and need as much help as possible with fighting. But I come here and I see my brother slowly dying, one Winchester joining the Apocalypse Express, and the rest of you are discussing ways to just tuck tail and find shelter? Are you kidding me?”

“What choice do we have, man?” Ash cuts in. Gabriel wheels his gaze solely onto him, eyes burning bright.

“What choices do you have?” He asks, voice strained and low. “What _choices_? Jesus fucking _Christ_ on a _cracker_ , no wonder Dean was such a leader! All of you just let him make the calls, or what? You’ve got the choice to hide out or fight. To try and avoid the Apocalypse or to let it happen. You’ve got choices, guys, you just don’t see them!”

Bobby glares. “And what exactly do you want us to do, Gabriel? Weren’t you Trickster for a while? You want to talk about tucking tail, you’re a prime example.”

John sighs. “Now, wait a minute! “ He rubs between his eyes with one hand, tapping the table with his knuckles with the other. “Just hold on a goddamn minute. What about the Horsemen rings?”

“We have two, but we need the others. When we get all four, they combine and open the Cage that Lucifer was in. Before Dean—left—the game plan was to get all of them and try to trap the devil that way,” Sam explains.

“Okay, so that’s option one. Now, option two?” John really isn’t liking the arguing going around. Everyone around the table is all they had left. Two angels and a bunch of previously dead family members isn’t much. But he wasn’t a Marine for nothing, damn it, and he has to do something to get control of the situation.

Gabriel points at him, pleased by his train of thought, and snaps his fingers. A whiteboard appears. Ellen writes down option one, and then looks up expectantly. “Well? Are we going to figure out our options or are we going to just sit here with our thumbs up our asses?”

Sam raises a hand. “Well, we were talking about holing up. Right?”

“Right, but I’m guessing that there are a few people in this room that disagree with that option.”

“What if we did both?”

“What are you talking about, Sasquatch?” Gabriel raises an eyebrow.

Sam sighs. He hates this—going on without Dean, the fact that he won’t be coming back all too real in the back of his head—but it’s something that must be done. Dean said yes for some reason or another, brainwashed or not, and that had to mean something.

“We go after the rings that we don’t have, right? Send out a few of us but not all of us, and whoever is left behind can stockpile supplies in case we don’t succeed in taking down Lucifer. Michael’s still set on this battle, so I’m guessing that we’re going to have him coming after us even after we take out the Devil.”

Pamela grins. “Damn, Sammy, aren’t you the brains of the bunch!”

“I don’t like the idea of splitting up,” Castiel rasps. “Angels still want Sam, along with demons. Lucifer’s vessel won’t last much longer if he stop drinking demon blood.”

Gabriel shrugs. “So, Sam stays put and we don’t send out more than a few. I could probably talk a few angels--.”

“No!” Castiel growls. “They can’t be trusted. I won’t allow this family to be betrayed by what should be my own.”

“Angel’s oath can’t be broken,” Gabriel suggests. “They give their word, they have no choice to follow through. Which, by the way, is probably the reason so many of you are alive now. Dean must have asked for back-up. He knew what was going to happen and thought ahead.”

“A few angels could be a good defense, Cas,” Jo volunteers.

Castiel turns to Gabriel. “Who would you recruit?”

“Annael, maybe. I’m pretty sure we could talk a few lesser angels into it. Oriel, for example. I know Death’s not keen on helping Lucifer; we could try a few reapers, if not him personally.”

“Angels and reapers and demons, oh my,” Pamela mutters. Gabriel winks again.

“You said electricity and gas wouldn’t last,” Ash cuts in. “So obviously, food stocks are down when this big shebang blows. Where do we go?”

“Dairy products could be made, clothes can be bought. Canned foods are going to be our friend. Gabriel, would you be willing to conjure some food down the road?” Sam asks, turning to the golden-eyed archangel.

“This battle is going to be huge, Sam. Doing that for small stuff, no problem, but food for—what, ten people?—is going to start to drain me pretty fast. I’m still witness protection, so I can’t do much in the way of big Grace use until I have to.”

“Crap, okay,” Sam mutters. He looks rather dejected.

John sighs. “Can I just point out that we still have no base set?”

There’s a silence as people try to figure out where to go. Houses weren’t going to do much and apartments were small and hard to escape.

“A farm?” Ellen suggests. “They usually have a lot of rooms. We can use whatever rooms we don’t need as stock piles for weapons and food and extra clothes. Cows, sheep, they eat grass, right? Easy dairy products and beef, and if they have chickens, we can have eggs and meat.”

Gabriel grins. “You are brilliant.”

Bobby growls. “Why don’t we stay here? I built this Panic Room for a reason.”

Castiel raises an eyebrow. “Salt and iron only take care of half the equation of imposing forces, Bobby. We still need angelic protection. With angels, even the few my brother can recruit, on our side, there is a larger defense, however, even with them, we’d need some type of alert system.”

Someone knocks on the door. Everyone turns.

“Can I suggest hellhounds?” Crowley asks, eyebrow raised.


	4. The World Keeps Spinnin' Along

“Who the hell are you?” John demands.

 

“You can call me Crowley. King of the Crossroads, and possible ally of the Apocalypse,” the demon answers, eyebrow raised. “You must be Daddy Winchester. I’ve heard all about you.”

“The hell you are an ally! That colt stunt you pulled got Ellen and Jo killed!” Bobby growls.

“Who, I may point out, are now alive, yes?” Crowley asks. “And bugger off with the gun, will you, I thought it would work.”

John stands, staring angrily. “You’re a demon. Why should we trust you?”

“Oh by all means, don’t,” the demon replies, lifting his hands. “I am a demon, after all. I’ll stab you in the back first chance I get, that I can promise you.”

Sam rolls his eyes. “At least he’s up front about it.”

Castiel stands with effort, leaning heavily on the table. “Why are you here, then?” His gaze is sharp like glass. His skin is almost transparent because of how pale he is, and his cheeks are starting to hollow out. His eyes are bloodshot, his trench coat stained with blood from his coughing fit. His arms tremble with just holding his own weight.

“Down boy. I’m not here to hinder. Quite on the contrary, I’m here to help. Offer my services, you see? It just so happens that I tend to like this world the way it is. No place for demon deals while the Apocalypse is occurring. Bad business. Your plan was to split between stock piling and finding the remaining rings, correct?”

“What about the Hellhounds?” John demands. “How do we know we can trust them?”

“Depends on if you want to borrow or own,” Crowley answers.

“What do you mean own?” Castiel’s voice is like a saw; much less gravel and smoke and more rough sandpaper against raw skin. He’s weakening fast, Sam thinks sadly. He wonders just how much longer they have with the Falling angel.

“Well, transferring ownership isn’t exactly easy to do, but it is possible. The amount of obeying they do will shift. Ownership makes them obey completely, while borrowing is a little less likely for a high success rate.”

Gabriel laughs sarcastically. “You’re forgetting the process of transferring ownership,” he says.

“Well, do you want my help or not? I am busy, you know.”

Sam scoffs. “Oh yeah, souls to corrupt, deals to make, people to kill. I’m sure your schedule’s full.”

“And how do we go about owning a baying demon mutt that we can’t see?” Ash asks.

“With the ownership comes the ability to see them,” Castiel says. “And owning one is done by drinking the hound’s blood and receiving a bite from them. A small one that’s then licked and healed. It’s a permanent transaction. You’ll have that hound’s loyalty until the day you or it dies. If you were to borrow their allegiances, Crowley would have to give the sight to you via spell.”

“Oh is that all?” Bobby asks sarcastically.

“Well, I can see we won’t be reaching a decision any time soon, so ring me when you’ve made the final choice--.”

“I want one,” Sam volunteers. John wheels on him to turn his glare on his fully.

“And you’re willing to drink hellhound blood without knowing the side effects?” John demands. “No.”

“There aren’t any real side effects, except being able to see one. Maybe a mental connection on the radio with the hound, but that’s it.”

“Fine, but if Sam gets one, so do we all.”

 

          Which is how everyone winds up with a foul taste in their mouths and agony radiating in their arms.

 

          “We need to set up camp,” John announces three days later, then looks to Gabriel. “You’re an angel, right?”

          “ _Arch_ angel, ready for command,” Gabriel snips. He’s not pleased at the fact that he has listen to humans and follow their orders. It’s why he left Heaven under witness protection in the first place.         

          “How soon can you find a suitable farm?”

           He raises an eyebrow, waving a hand to conjure a cherry sucker and sticking it in his mouth. “Well,” he says thoughtfully. “I suppose...I think...I’m pretty sure this whole showdown between my brothers is supposed to go down in Kansas, since that’s where the Winchester Journey started. So we obviously want one as far from there as possible. How many people do we have rooming together?” There’s Ellen, Jo, John, Bobby, Sam, Pamela Barnes, Ash, Gabriel, Castiel.

          “Jo and I can share,” Ellen offers.

          “You and I can as well,” Castiel agrees. “That is, if you would be around long enough.”

          Gabriel grimaces at the accusation lurking under the suggestion. It’s true that he was infamous for ditching out when he was needed—it was his M.O. up until Dean had snapped him out of it. Being alone was his usual security blanket, but as the water had poured down on him and the holy fire went out, he realized just how much damage it had done to both his family and himself. It pained him then and it agonizes him now as he realizes Castiel is expecting him to leave, waiting for it, even.

          “I’m not going anywhere,” Gabriel promises. Castiel regards him with unreadable blue eyes. He takes a deep breath and breaks eye contact. “Can anyone else share comfortably?”

          “Wait,” Sam says. He looks over to Gabriel. “Can we talk for a second?”

Gabe nods and they step outside. The hunter takes a deep breath, exhaling in a large gust. “You said you could help with...him, right?”

          He doesn’t have to mention the Devil by name to know exactly who he’s talking about. Gabriel nods easily. “If you wanted me to, yes, I can. But you have to understand, Sam. That can’t be undone. The seal takes time, but once it’s there for a long enough period of time, it kind of melts into your mind. It’s like...like bleach on clothes. Short period of time, fine, but long enough, and...” He shrugs, then studies him closely. “Are you sure you want this?”

          Sam meets his gaze firmly. “Honestly, no, I’m not. But...I’m tired. I’m so freaking _tired_ right now, Gabriel, I swear I’m seeing double. The past few days, man—I mean I can only take so much without crumpling under the weight. Please, Gabriel. Help me.”

          Gabriel nods solemnly. “Alright, Sam. It’s going to take a while, though; about forty-five minutes or so. When do you want to do it?”

          “Well...I’d really rather not do it when people could interrupt. So, I mean, sometime tonight, maybe?” The hunter looks up hopefully and Gabe can’t help but nod. He hates to admit it—even to himself—but he is developing a small soft spot for the kid. Though, as the angel takes in the bags under his eyes and the drained color of his skin, the way exhaustion and grief has etched themselves into his stooped shoulders and clenched fists, he’s starting to realize that Sam wasn’t the same person he’d met oh-so long ago. The change—a bitter shield to his gaze, his lips set in a grim line of determination—is almost palpable, and for that reason, so much more frightening.

          “Panic Room, perhaps?” He offers.

          “Sure,” Sam confirms and they go back inside.

 

Elsewhere:

 

When Cas had lost his vessel and was booted back to Bible Camp, Jimmy Novak had said it was like being chained to a comet. Dean figures it’s just because it wasn’t the right set, that Cas wasn’t the right angel for his vessel, because for the most part, it’s actually painless. He spends an immeasurable amount of time floating in a white space filled with bubbles of memories. The racist truck with Cassie was the first he saw, but as time passed he grew into more recent memories. And then, there were others. Others that weren’t his, images highlighted in a lightning blue, too great for his human mind to completely understand: they were Michael’s.

          _I don’t go through your memories_ , the archangel’s voice whispers like a breeze in his mind; _I ask that you don’t go through mine_.

          Dean pulls back sharply. **You’re rocking the Apocalypse Showdown in my body, pal,** he reminds, but there’s little venom in the actual snip. **Not my fault your memories are mixed with mine.**

          There’s a mental huff of annoyance _. I asked nicely, Dean_.

          **How long has it been since I said yes?**

          _Roughly three weeks, give or take._

          **Why are you waiting so long? Why don’t you just battle Lucifer now?**

          _Lucifer is my brother. I don’t want to fight him; it’s not something I am excited for. I’m trying to put it off. You should understand, Dean, considering the relationship you have with Samuel._

          **Had, Michael—I had that relationship with my brother. Or do you not remember the part where I’m dying?**

          _Come. It’s time to pay my own kid brother a visit._

          If Dean could, he would have sucked in a breath in fear. Despairingly, he thinks, **Cas...**

 

Back at Bobby’s:

 

          “Okay, so we’re looking at, what, six rooms minimum?  Probably ten, if we can swing it, so we can take our stocks inside. Less easy to break in and steal that way,” Gabriel says, clapping his hands. “It has to be as far from Kansas as possible to minimize the blast damage. Who knows how to garden?”

          Castiel coughs roughly, but raises a hand. “I happen to love gardening. Fruits and vegetables will be a good escape for me, I think.”

          Gabe casts him an anguished look. “You and I need to speak tonight—alone,” he says softly, then looks back around the house. “Okay, so that’s taken care of. Who’s going to do stock? Sam, you’ll stay here. Too many angels and demons want the bounty over your head; it’s too dangerous. I’ll divide time between searching for angelic allies and guarding the house.”

          Bobby rolls forward. “I can call in a few hunters if we need to,” he suggests before turning towards John. “Rufus is still up and kickin’ if you can believe it. Garth, too, but I think he’s on a hunt for a tooth fairy.”

          John scoffs. “Surprised he’s managed to keep his head on his shoulders.”

          “The more the merrier but we can’t swing anymore rooms than ten, so they’ll have to use the guest house or something,” Gabriel confirms, nodding.

          “I can put my feelers out for the Horsemen rings,” Crowley offers. “Demon, remember? I’ll get news of them much faster than your hunters will.”

          “Then what am I supposed to do?” Bobby demands. “In case you haven’t noticed, bright eyes, I ain’t exactly battlefield ready.”

          Gabriel waves a hand. “Taken care of. Should have asked sooner, Singer. Archangel-Trickster-Demigod, remember? Now, that makes two on Horsemen duty. Still need stocks patrol and animal control. There’s Ellen, Jo, John, Rufus, Pamela, Ash, and Garth. That’s seven people. Let’s vote. Who wants stock patrol—canned goods, guns, water, batteries, maps, books, etc.”

          Pamela, Ash, and John raise their hands.

          “Sold. Okay, that leaves Ellen, Jo, and Rufus and Garth to sit home. Eh, we’ll put Garth on stocks just to even it out. More the merrier, right? Okay. Cas, what angels can you think of that we can trust?”

          “Dead or alive?”  The angel asks with gravel-mixed voice. Blue eyes spark mutedly with a subdued humor. Gabriel’s lip quirks.

 “Alive, obviously, though dead could be manageable if they’re just in hiding. I was ‘dead’ for years, if you recall.”

          Castiel’s face  twists unpleasantly. “Yes, I do remember that. Do me a favor, Gabriel—don’t ever do that again.”

          “Won’t if I have a choice, Cassie, that I can promise.”

          “There’s Annael, though she tried to prevent Sam’s birth and—Michael, well...”

          “Turned her vessel to charcoal, got it. Okay, she’ll be a little harder to find and put on a trial basis to see if we can trust her. Who else?”

          “There’s Oriel. I haven’t spoken to her in quite some time; I’m unsure of her allegiance. Bartholomew, as well, though the same applies to him. Naomi, too. Others have been brainwashed the same way Zachariah and Raphael have. They can’t be trusted.”

          Gabriel’s eyes widen. “They got Raphael, too?”

          Castiel nods sadly. “He killed me.”

          “God _damn_ it!” He swears viciously. Suddenly the room seems both too small and too large to contain his panic and anger, and so he excuses himself and storms to the back. Lightning cracks, but there’s not a single square inch of white cloud to be seen. He stares hard at the ground, tries to control his breathing and his Grace as it pulses in his chest, begging for an outlet.

          Zachariah he could understand—he’s always been fickle with the human side of the world. But Raphael? He flanked Michael everywhere. He followed him constantly, one of the most faithful even after Lucifer’s fall. He was dubbed The Healer for a reason, so very loving and dutiful to humankind. When had love turned to hatred, healing turned to poison? Gabriel’s chest heaves.

          His family is falling apart and he can’t do anything to stop it.

          “I know.”

          Gabriel doesn’t turn to face Castiel, speaks without even moving a muscle, fists clenched at his side. “When did our family turn into a battleground?”

          “I’ve been where you stand now, Gabriel,” the gravelly voice says, closer now. “I’ve asked myself the same thing. When did our duty become a grievance instead of pleasure? When did humans become...”

          “Something to hate, rather than a joyful thing creation?” Gabriel mutters. “I don’t understand. We’re family, Castiel. Why can no one see that? Why can’t they see that the only thing that they hurt is each other?” A hand closes on his shoulder. The archangel sighs, running a hand over his face. “At least tell me it gets better, Cas.” His anger and panic have subsided now. He’s calm, resigned, oh so very tired.

A humorless laugh next to his ear. “I am slowly dying because I could not let go of a human I fell in love with, Gabriel. Am I really a good example of ‘it gets better’? Better yet, would you truly believe me if I did say so?”

Gabriel closes his eyes, takes a deep breath. “Good point,” he admits.

Then, there’s a shift in the air. Both look up, and when Gabriel sees who it is, he summons an angel blade and steps in front of Castiel protectively. His voice rumbles like thunder, the winds blow around him threateningly, the pairs of golden eagle wings arched high in defense.

“Michael,” he snarls, grip tightening on the blade.


End file.
